It had been explained to Jake McGraw, when he purchased the building that would serve as his shop, that the structure had served as Lincoln County’s original jail. As a result, the adobe covered walls had been fashioned from the thickest beams that could be located in the nearby forest, making them exceptionally sturdy. McGraw had been able to obtain the place relatively cheaply, as the owner had been unable to rent it for almost a year and the last tenant, an itinerant blacksmith, had failed to pay him for three months prior to disappearing from the area. In the end, the man had been pleased to make a small profit from the property.

The rainfall has lessened to a soft drizzle, becoming a gray mist that settles over the valley, concealing the adjacent mountains in a light gray fog. The scent of pine and moisture sits heavy in the cool, afternoon air.

The shop is precisely as McGraw left it as he and Castillo carry the bulky crate to the front door. A moment after the two set the container down on the damp earth, a voice calls out, ”Mr. McGraw?”

Looking behind them, McGraw and Castillo see a young man with dark hair, no older than seventeen, wave and approach them, his expression anxious.

OOC: Jake, as it’s your shop, I’ve been deliberately light on the details of its appearance, so you can fill those in as you choose.

"Howdy!" Jake says at the approaching youth. He takes a key out of his pocket and unlocks the door. "Mr. Ellis said you'd be by. Let's get in out o' the damp, and you can tell me what's on your mind." He opened the door, picked up his end of the crate, and nodded to Jacinta.

The young man nods, readily following McGraw and Castillo inside. The anxious expression remains fixed on his features however, and after pausing to take in the interior of the shop, he clears his throat and says, ”Mr. McGraw, my name’s Micah Gehrig. My folks own a farm southwest of town. Mrs. Jessen’s our neighbor. You fixed up her broken plow last week.”

The young man removes his hat, fingering the brim nervously. ”I know you just got off the stagecoach and all, sir. But my Pa, he sent me to ask if you’d fix his wagon. One of the wheels is broken off and we haven’t got the tools to get it back on.”

“Pa asked if you’d come today. He wants to get us moved out of Lincoln quick. We’re going to live with my uncle up in Santa Fe. Pa says we’ve got to keep my sis...that we need to get on our way as soon as we can get all our things loaded.”

“He said he’d make it worth your while, sir. Whatever you’d normally change for the job, my Pa said he’d pay you double.”

Jake had made the most out of the converted jail. The blacksmith who'd had the place before him had set up a decent forge in the rear, though it hadn't been made with Ghost Rock burning in mind (which was sort of a pain when he needed to work with the stuff). Still, it served for most of the repair work he'd done since coming to town. He'd made a mechanical pump to work the bellows, which gave him a more even and predictable airflow than manual pumping, and which made things much less tiring for him to operate.

Jake had converted one of the cells into his bedroom, with lantern, a wardrobe, a nightstand, and shelves for his collection of Sears & Robards catalogs and back-issues of New Science magazine and the Tombstone Epitaph. He also had a desk he used for drafting blueprints and making sketches of devices that he'd gotten inspiration for.

The rest of the space was an assembly room and workshop, filled with tools on the walls, supplies in barrels and buckets, and half-completed devices on the workbench. On one wall was a dart board he used for target practice, with a shredded scrap of newspaper on it that no longer resembled a picture of Ulysses Grant unless you really squinted at it.

Jake maneuvered the crate he'd brought to an open section of floor, then considered the young man. "Awful big hurry your Pa's in, considerin' the weather." he says.

((OOC: Anything of note about that repair job Micah mentioned? Is it one of those suspicious jobs he's had lately?))

Micah nods and shifts his feet, his gaze on the floor. ”Yessir, he is. We were up late last night, gettin’ our things ready to load. There’ll be some of it we leave behind, but Pa says we’ll make do. Ma says that Santa Fe’s a real nice place. Better than here.”

The young man looks up, his eyes traveling over the forge and the wide assortment of tools on the walls. Returning his attention to the engineer, he says, ”I promised I’d run back home once I’d found you. Do you think you’d be able to come today, sir?”

OOC: Mrs. Jessen’s plow, unfortunately, had the appearance of something that had been deliberately broken. To McGraw’s trained eye, the damage did not appear accidental.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:55, Tue 27 Feb 2018.

Jacinta dropped the crate where Jake indicated and straightened to have a look about.  Her eyes drifted over the various tools and implements, half constructed gizmos and whatnot, but she didn't touch anything.  It was almost as if she knew better than to go fooling around with ghost-rock powered do-dads.

Turning her attention back to the kid, she pushed the brim of her hat back a trifle.  "Sounds like you're running from trouble, eh?  Something happen to scare off your Pa?  Someone running you out of town, kid?"

Jake, who had been thinking along the same lines, nodded. "If'n it's some sort o' trouble, I might be able to help with more than just a wheel."

Micah blinks, surprised by the frankness of both Castillo and McGraw. He looks back and forth between the two, his expression uncertain. ”My Pa...he just wants to leave to make sure my little sister stays safe. Ya’ll can understand that can’t you?”

He looks back down at the ground and shakes his head. ”Mr. McGraw, even if you really wanted to help like you say, I’m not sure that you could.”

"You'll never know if you don't speak up, mijo.  Some of us ain't the sort to stand by and watch good folk get rolled over by bad people." She hooked her thumb in her belt and leaned against the counter.

Jake nods. "You want your little sister safe. I can understand that. But I can't begin to help you if'n I don't know what the real problem is, and trouble has a habit o' followin' folk if it ain't confronted. I can fix your wheel, like I fixed Mrs. Jessen's plow, but I've been doin' an awful lot o' fixin' lately, and the stuff that's been broke didn't get that way through normal wear and tear. I might feel different once I seen the damage, but somethin' broke your wheel, and I reckon it was done on purpose. Might start breakin' people next. And I'll be the judge o' what I can and can't fix."

Micah’s frown deepens. ”Look, I don’t want to get in any trouble for talkin’ out of turn, but there’s a reason that the schoolhouse is shut down now. My sister goes there. And some of those kid she knows...well, they’ve disappeared.”

“No one’s talking about it too much, but I know some people think it has to do with those who have spoken out against Mr. Murphy and Mr. Dolan. That it’s their young ‘uns that have gone missing.”

“My Pa...he’s said some things about ‘The House’. About what happened to John Tunstall. My Ma, too. And...well, Miss Perez, the school mistress, she’s started holding classes over at the Catholic Church. Thinks it’s safer for the kids. But my parents...they figure the best thing to do is just get out. Leave the farm behind and head to Santa Fe. At least we know Ella will be safe there.”

Jancta threw Jake a look and one brow inched upward.  "Missing kids?  That's no small matter.  One gone?  Maybe an accident.  Multiple children snatched up?  That's a conspiracy."

"Your papa is right to want to run, mijo, especially to protect your baby sister.  Some fights can't be fought alone.  Luckily, I've got friends that'd want to help."